Loads of Fun

I’m writing this blog post from the floor of a Laundromat in the lower east side. My mac just auto-capitalized the word Laundromat and I think that’s hilarious because there is nothing proper about this place. That being said, I am literally sitting on the tiles in front of my dryer so who am I to talk? My mother would be mortified right now.  I’m hoping she would at least be proud of my frugality. I am washing and drying my own clothes and saving approximately ten dollars for doing so. 

The past two weeks have been beyond incredible. I know it sounds cliché and self-indulgent, but I literally wake up every morning and tell God that I can’t believe I’m here and I’m this happy. I have a support group of the best friends and family I could possibly imagine. I have two roommates who are gorgeous and spunky and could not be kinder to me. I have an opportunity for higher education with NY freaking U. I have a job. And I live in the greatest city in the world. #Blessed

I read Crossing Brooklyn Ferry and Here is New York for my Storied New York class this week and I think E.B. White captures my sentiments perfectly.

“New York provides not only a continuing excitation but also a spectacle that is continuing. I wander around, re-examining this spectacle, hoping that I can put it on paper.” …or the internet.

Classes are fab, and challenging but I’m not overwhelmed yet. My first assignments were a NYFW story and a mini profile of a classmate. Did I shamelessly flirt with a young security guard to make my way into the Lincoln Center lobby where I interviewed the head of security, his Dartmouth/Georgetown alum son, and a lovely production manager? That doesn’t sound like me.

I really love the Tavern because it makes me feel like a New Yorker. All the employees have at least 2 jobs, most have 3 or more, and represent all the city’s best archetypes.

There’s the beautiful young actress with a wit that keeps me at her side most of the night.

There’s the 50-year-old rockstar who refuses to get old and still sticks it to the man.

There’s the cute little Italian filmmaker whose accent is as adorable as her size and quip-py conversation.

There’s the part-time stand-up comedian who feels like your aunt, ready with a hilarious impression or some sound relationship advice.

There’s the male-cougar (not sure what the equivalent is) bartender who was totally hott with two t’s a few years ago, and still worth the harmless work-flirt.

There’s the Hispanic bus boy with the sly smile who you want to talk to all night but he’s so busy because of his incredible work ethic.

There’s the cranky New Yorker who yells at everyone and complains all the time in a way that’s so endearing because you know he secretly loves this job and you.

I could go on.

Work gives me a purpose and allows me to entertain the notion that I’m a “real-life working girl” juggling school, church, social outings, and a job. I know I am definitely here by the grace of God and Lowell & Paula Mooney, but it’s nice to feel like I’m contributing SOMETHING. Plus, I got to seat Josh Lucas last night and his blue eyes are as magical in a poorly lit restaurant as they are on the silver screen. EEK. 

I’ve also had two run-ins with Nick Jonas and I’m not sure if this fortuitous happenstance is indicative of anything—I know Melissa Bene really wants it to be.

Friday night, Sept. 13, was my first official “night out” in the city. Some magazine kids met up in an apartment to pregame and then hit Phebes, Off the Wagon, and an awesome pizza place on W 4^th street. It was a wonderful evening. I say this with the utmost love and respect for my dear Athens and fellow Dawgs, but going out in NYC feels more glamorous.. The crowd is a little smarter. The clothes are a little better. The DJS are a little more experienced. The light fixtures are a little more expensive. You get the drift.  Though my lack of funds means these outings may be few and far between, I am looking forward to the ones I can slip in every now and then.

So now that I’ve washed clothes in a Laundromat, I secretly feel this small happening constitutes loads of progress (forgive me) towards becoming a bona fide New Yorker. Now I guess I just sit back and wait for the slow downward spiral into loneliness and self-loathing. Those are inevitable here, right?